myself my own useless
and aimless existence, and the vanity of those speculations wherewith
we strive in vain to pierce the mystery of our being. There are
moments when that foundation of reason on which I build my hopes of
eternal life seems to shift beneath my feet, as unstable as this sand;
when life and its purposes, death and its consequences, seem to me a
mystery more unfathomable than yonder sea. What assurance have I that
my existence will not terminate like that of the beasts which perish?
What certainty that, with my mortal frame, this spirit which I feel
within me shall not also die and disappear forever? It is true, there
are many probabilities that the soul is immortal, nature and reason
seem alike to teach that it is so, but still I have no assurance,
still that mighty hope at times seems vain, often it is eclipsed
entirely, and my soul is shrouded in darkness."

"My son, what wouldst thou give to one who could give thee an
assurance, a positive certainty, that thy hopes of immortality are not
vain?"

"Did there exist one able to give me that assurance I would deem the
devotion of my whole life a poor return for so vast a blessing. But
thou mockest me with so vain a hope. No created being is able to give
me such assurance, or is worthy of belief did he promise it. No--the
great Maker of my spirit alone can reveal to me if it be immortal; but
where shall I seek him to ask for that revelation? He is to be found
only in his own works, and I can but go back to that school, and
strive by meditation on Him to strengthen my spirit in the only faith
which gives any value to life."

The stranger regarded the young man with a long and wistful gaze.

"Wouldst thou believe me, my son, were I to tell thee that I possess
that assurance? that I am as firmly convinced of my existence after
death, as I am that I am now a living, breathing man? that I feel an
absolute certainty that you and I will meet, immortal spirits, before
the throne of God, who is the Judge of all men?"

The young philosopher smiled mournfully, regarding the aged man with a
look of affectionate pity.

"Thou thinkest now that this is delusion, but it is a truth, a hope
full of immortality. Listen, my son; has God left himself without a
witness of his own existence? Is it not written on the heavens and on
the earth in characters as clear as the light that he is, and that his
hand hath made all these things? Behold the sun which performs his
dail